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“ Nec fortuitum spernere Cespitem

Leges sinebant,

(1) THE PEER. " I move, Mr. Speaker, that the Clerk of the Course (roars of langbter, in which the noble ford joined) I beg pardon-the Clerk of the House,” &c - LORD STANLEY. Air—“My heart's in the Highlands."

My heart's at Newmarket, my heart is not here-
My heart's at Newmarket with Francis Butlere,
Watching Mr. Hibburd marshal cracks in a row,
And hearing him utter the magic words—" Go!
Farewell to Newmarket, farewell to the North,
Near whose Malton John Scott tests my thoroughbred's worth ;
Though o'er dull State papers my eyes now must rove,
The wide wolds of Malton for ever I'll love.

Farewell, my black jacket, and cap white as snow,
Which in triumph again shall be borne by Longbow ;
Farewell, trial horses, lead pouches and hoods ;
Farewell, telegraph, scales, Clark and Tattersall bloods.
My heart's at Newmarket, my heart is not here-
My heart's at Newmarket with Francis Butlere,
Watching Mr. Hibburd marshal cracks in a row,
And hearing him utter the magic words—Go!"

(2) THE PROPHET. " From some extraordinary private information which I have just received, the race for, &c., is the greatest certainty extant. Fee only 20 guineas per annum."STAMFORD.

Air." She wore a wreath of roses."

He wore a jaunty stable dress, the morn when first we met,
And round the Great St. Leger course he led the crack a sweat ;
His carcase was all lightness, he scarcely rode eight stone,
Still to his youthful heart was not “ the time of day” unknown.

I saw him but a moment, and methinks I see him now,
As he pulled up on the leader at the top of Cantley brow.


A most eruptive handkerchief when next we met he wore,
He looked ten stone, and “ VOLTIGEUR” was the classic name he bore ;
With “ TRAMP ” and “ MISSIVE as his pals, he sent out from Fetter

Half a dozen winners for each race, and then came “ RIGHT AGAIN !"

I saw him but a moment, and methinks I see him now,
Gaily twining every Thursday Bell's laurels for his brow.

And once again I see him : a red-baize board is there,
He sits behind a counter with cigars and a “ladye fayre ;"
I conned his odds with stealthy eye, and when no one seemed near
I backed a horse for half a sov. with this list-house Cavalier.

I saw him but a moment, and I wish I saw him now,
But he “shut up" ere bright Phæbus next rose o'er the

mountain's brow.

(3) THE PURSER(!).
The Derby Settling.–Vide Bell's Life, June 5th.

Air" Marble balls."

I dreamt I was pacing the famed Tattersall's

With “chaps," sirs, and peers at my side;
And that no one like B-, within those walls,

Seemed so full of his swagger and pride.
He had bank notes too many to count, so he signed

His valued ancestral name,
To twelve slashing cheques on The Union Bank-

And to creditors handed the same.

I dreamt that at last one veteran hand

Refused thus to be gammoned by B. ;
So when cash applications he could not withstand,

He mizzled down Piccadilly.
I dreamt that not one of those cheques was paid

When the chiselled ones came to claim ;
And I also dreamt, which puzzled me most,

That his list-house kept open the same.







“ First let the KENNBL be the huntsman's care."


"Set in the midst of our meridian isle,

By wandering heaths and pensive woods embraced
With dewy meads, and downs of open smile,

And winding waters, naturally graced,
Our rural capital is meetly placed.”

From Peel's “ FAIR ISLAND," Canto IV.

Newport, the capital of the Isle of Wight, still retains all the characteristics of an old-fashioned English market town, offering in every respect the most marked contrast to its gayer modern rivals : Ventnor and Ryde. Newport has yet, as in the good olden times, its weekly market days, its annual fair, its Town-hall and Corn Exchange, its mayor, burgesses, and corporation. Newport can still show, as we have already seen (what in these rail-road days is yet more rare), its wellappointed four-in-hand stage-coach teams ; its far-famed “ Bugle Hotel," with a jovial-looking host, a sedate well-dressed old head waiter, pretty chambermaids, and bustling “boots," besides all those hangers-on we are wont to remember in days of yore: the former usual idlers and loungers about the head inn” of an English county town, but now, generally speaking, scattered far and wide by the all-powerful breath of steam."

Newport can boast, amongst other antiquities, of its far-famed, historic Castle of Carisbrooke, allowed, alas ! now too rapidly to decayof its venerable old church of St. Thomas, doomed likewise to destruction—but by the more sacrilegious hand of man. The very mud choking the Medina river—and which prevents half-a-dozen steamers from daily depositing their freights in the very centre of the town-this very accumulation of mud is “ antique,” and so much respected by the good old town of Newport, that rather than remove it, its primitive inhabitants suffer Ryde and Cowes to monopolize all the visitors to the Isle of Wight; and whilst the two latter places are daily increasing in size, importance, and prosperity, old Newport continues to remain (barring its two "gas” companies) what it was fifty-aye a hundred years ago.

Such was the purport of the observations made during my forenoon stroll, under the auspices of a well qualified cicerone, whilst waiting the

* This venerable old building, which has s'ood so many centuries, and would probably stand as many more, is to be replaced by a modern church. We would ask-is this merely from want of good taste, or is it indeed a job?

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return of my companion from Parkhurst Barracks, whither he had sped on a reconnoitring visit to an old friend.

“I have seen Markstone,” said Jones, when we met as agreed on at lunch; “ he is as good a fellow as ever; has offered to propose us as honorary members of his mess, and, what is more, has promised me a mount for to-morrow, when the meet is at the kennel, not above a mile from the town, and I vote that after we have had some grub, we stroll over and have a look at the bow-wows,

“With all my heart,” replied I ; “ but I must first think of getting something to carry me to-morrow, unless you mean to take me up behind you. Can anything in the way of horseflesh be had in this ancient town?”

Jones, to my great disgust, expressed some doubts on the subject, doubts which were confirmed, when old Edwards, the head ostler of the “ Bugle,” was consulted on this, to me, most interesting subject; old Edwards, however, promised to do his best in my behalf, and with this assurance we started on our projected visit to the “ kennel.”

A walk of about a mile, along the picturesque declivity of one side of the valley through which meanders the lazy waters of the Medina, whilst St. George's Downs crown the opposite heights, brought us to Marvel, where under a hill, clothed with gigantic and primeval oaks, lies, snugly nestled, the comfortable abode of Mr. John Harvey, the tary” of the Hunt, this being likewise the “head quarters” of the Isle of Wight Hounds. Mr. Harvey was from home; but we were informed that Quick, the huntsman, was at the stables, and thither we accordingly repaired.

A huntsman, generally speaking, does not show to advantage in his “ mufti” dress; Mr. Quick is, however, an unusual exception to this rule.

Apparently between forty and fifty years of age-of a slight figure and light weight—his bright eye indicated promptitude and decision, whilst good temper equally important as a huntsman's qualification) was legibly written on his countenance, which lit up with pleasure, as he welcomed friend Jones.

“ I've brought my friend here,” observed the latter, " to have a look at your sport in the Isle of Wight : he's fresh from chasing Kaffirs, elephants, and hippopotami, at the Cape of Good Hope, and a little foxhunting will no doubt be to him an agreeable change.'

“ I'm afraid, your honour,” modestly observed Mr. Quick, “that the change will not be for the better in the way of sport ; however, we will do our bestmat any rate your honour will not have far to go to-morrow to the meet.'

“Let's have a look at the stud, Quick, and then,” said Jones, “I dare say you'll have the goodness to show the hounds to my friend, who had a good deal to do with a “jackal' pack, at the Cape of Good Hope, and had, likewise, the management of a Bauberry 'hunt* in the East."

At this intimation, Mr. Quick's respectful attentions towards me increased in a much greater ratio than it probably would have done had he been fully aware of the real nature of a “ Bauberry” pack in India --that we there ran into jackals with terriers, coursed foxes with greyhounds, had our best hunting without any hounds at all—and that, as a climax to all these atrocities, I had more recently at the Cape been

* in which the pack is composed of all sorts of mongrels of every size and dee scription.


guilty of hunting by "spoor" instead of scent, and that, with a pack composed of a very mixed and doubtful breed of Fingoes, Hottentots, and Bastaards, who managed nevertheless to show tolerable sport, and run occasionally into a Kaffir; but although many a "brush swarthy pack had with this vermin, it was never recorded (although I would have felt loath to confess as much to Mr. Quick), that we had ever carried a single one away.

Had Mr. Quick been aware of all this, and of how complete a novice I was in the art of the chase (I mean as far as relates to the chase of the fox as followed in old England) he most assuredly, with all his good nature and civility, would scarcely have wasted as much deference as he now manifested towards the “ Huntsman" of a Fingoe pack, or the "Master” of the high sounding “Bauberry Hunt” of the East.

“I recognize here,” said Jones, as we entered the stables, “one or two of my old friends of last season, and looking uncommonly well too.

“ Yes," replied Mr. Quick, "there are still my two “ stand-byes," little Turpin and old Sweep, both as good as ever, and never been lame, sick, or sorry, a single day. We have,” continued he, “lately had an addition of a couple of new ones to our stud : this bay, a present from Mr. Cotton; and the chesnut mare yonder, which we call Cayenne, seeing she's so uncommon hot, was very handsomely given to us by Mr. Bissett, whom your honour may remember seeing on her, last year, but who, I am sorry to say, is now never out with the hounds."

" But what," inquired Jones, "is the matter with Cayenne's fetlock joint !”

“She was staked at four years old, and although 'tis rather an unsightly thing, she's all the same very safe, and carries our Whip, Bill, uncommon well.”

" What then have you done with Tom Palmer ?" inquired Jones.

“Why,” replied Quick, “ Tom left us last summer ; and we have how Bill Drayton, who was Whip to the Cambridge hounds, and the best one we've ever yet had.”

“ 'Tis, I think, a pity," observed Jones, “ that you change so oftenthis is so difficult a country to get through after hounds, that both huntsman and whip cannot possibly be too well acquainted with it, in order to be able to do as they would wish-justice to the subscribers, to themselves, and to the pack.”

“ But look here, Sir,” added my companion, addressing himself to me, “just examine this old black horse. Sweep ;' he is the very stamp of an old English hunter, and it would do your heart good to see how steadily and safely he goes over the breakneck fences which we have in this part of the world. Drop-leaps, which a man might as well take with a rope round his neck; marshy brooks, dark and ugly looking as the Styx; and banks as big as the Bank of England, with fearful 'yawners on the other side-the old fellow makes child's play of all these, and the more there are of them the better he seems to like it."

“ He is,” observed Quick, “a capital good old horse ; but little Turpin," added he, going up and patting what was apparently the favourite, " is also a rare little horse, as the Captain knows well. Your honour, I dare say, remembers him when he belonged to Mr. Worsley, from whom we bought him for the hant.” “I do right well,” answered Jones ; “I once saw Mr. Worsley take

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